?

Log in

No account? Create an account
 
 
01 May 2009 @ 07:25 pm
[fic] good enough  
Title: Good Enough
Fandom: Resident Evil
Characters: Leon/Ada
Rating: PG-13
Notes: IDK, sometime Post RE4, no specific timeline set.


The sun is out, a blurry, white orb coming in and out of focus as the thick, smooth blanket of clouds drift on by. Clouds with no definite edges, no definable shape beyond being there, a heavy mass over the sky. It’s a gloomy sort of brightness and the rain is cold, the fat droplets hitting her bare arms and wetting her hair. The dark strands are clinging to her face and the back of her neck, and her skin is prickling now and again from the chill.

She pays it no mind, only waits there on the edge of the lion-headed fountain. It’s in the middle of a small courtyard, a line of shops on one side, a looming apartment building on the other, before her, towering a good nine or ten stories. The only kind of apartments you really saw anywhere out East; the ones out West were smaller, spaced out. She isn’t all too surprised that he’d live in something like this, though. Cheap, conveniently located, practical. Enough to suit his needs and nothing more.

No girls to bring home and impress, Mister Kennedy? she thinks, but the tone in her own head isn’t amused, only tired.

Her dress is red so the blood isn’t showing through much up her left side. Her perfectly still posture isn’t only out of habit, but because moving hurts. A bullet in her left side, and she got the damned thing out but beyond that she’s

just waiting there in the rain and gloom, and her eyelids are dropping a bit, feeling heavier and more tired as the minutes tick steadily into an hour. Two hours. No one approaches her when they walk by, no surprise there.

The sun is sinking deeper behind cloud cover by the time he shows up, nearly four hours later. She’s bled through the compress against her side and she’s sitting up despite being barely conscious, and in fact she doesn’t even notice him approaching the main doors to the building… she’s just fortunate he notices her.

Her eyes do open when he approaches, says simply, “Ada…?” in that wary tone trying to mask that somewhere deep inside him is that rookie cop that’s exceedingly happy to see her. Her lashes lift heavily and she smiles pleasantly up at him, and judging from his look he isn’t certain what to make of her presence.

“I was beginning to think you wouldn’t show up.”

He regards her a moment, gaze dropping once, and there’s… something that flickers across his gaze. Concern, perhaps, although Ada’s unused to anyone being concerned over her well-being, usually only their own.

He’s noticed she’s injured, doesn’t ask how or why she’s there. Doesn’t ask if she can stand, either, and merely closes the distance between them and gathers her up. Warm and strong arms, although he’s soaked through. Must have been walking home in the rain, irresponsible boy, she idly thinks as she tucks her head against his shoulder and allows her eyes to fully close.

He takes her inside and up to his apartment by the elevator, still wordless, still without a single question for her. She’s glad for it because she isn’t sure she has any answers to what he’d ask. Why was she there? She doesn’t know, other than I thought I was dying, I didn’t want to go to a hospital, I wanted to see you, I had no where else to go. None are things she would say, none are things she’ll even allow herself to think for long.

Ada slips out of consciousness for awhile, though it couldn’t be any more than five or ten minutes. But when she’s aware again, she’s realizing that Leon’s stripped her out of her dress and removed the bloodied compress somehow. Courteously left on her undergarments, but the dress is hanging over the back of a chair and he’s got her laying n a few towels on a bed (His bed?), warm cloth in hand and a first aid kit at his side.
He must have sensed her stir because his gaze lifts momentarily, lowers it again, returns to his task.

The disinfectant stings like hell and Ada closes her eyes, doesn’t make a sound. He’s quick and efficient in his work, as always, cleaning the injury, dressing it almost uncomfortably tight – except she knows it needs to be if the bleeding is to stop. When he’s done he puts away his supplies, washes his hands and returns again to lay a blanket out atop her. Tasks completed, he doesn’t seem to know what else to do with her and so he leaves the room, likely sets to doing whatever it is he does in his spare time.

Awkward and confused over a half-naked woman in his bed. Probably wondering if I’m going to slit his throat when he isn’t looking. It might have made her laugh under better circumstances, but just then the thought depresses her.

She drifts in and out of sleep, fending off dreams and nightmares alike, feeling the dull ache in her side pinch and stab when she reflexively tries to move to lie on her side as she normally does. She’s uncomfortable like this, too vulnerable, in an unfamiliar place without her weapons on her (Leon must have taken them when he took her dress) and she can’t seem to get any sort of decent sleep.

Leon checks on her within the hour, presses a cool hand to her too-warm forehead and she’s aware that he’s taken a shower. Wet hair and he smells like soaps and shampoo. He says nothing, but she’s flooded with another sort of ache altogether when he moves to leave again. Finds herself gazing after his retreating form, extending a hand and

sitting up, or trying to, with one hand braced behind her and the other fumbling with the blankets to throw them off of her. She isn’t quick enough to get to him but her movements have him turning, staring at her a moment and moving to her (his?) beside once more, hands reaching for her shoulders to push her back down.

“Hey, knock it off, you wanna start bleeding everywhere again?” he mutters, and she takes the opportunity to grab hold of the front of his shirt. Not enough to stop him from moving away if he so wished, but the gesture is enough to make him pause. She tugs and he goes willingly, tipping his head as though expecting her to whisper something to him and

she lifts her head, presses her mouth to his, insistent and eager. Leon braces a hand on the opposite side of her, makes no move to pull away even if he isn’t exactly kissing back. Ada’s hands find their way up, fingers lacing behind his neck, and he can’t help but think that – she tastes good, and the heat of her mouth sends little shivers straight down his spine to settle in the pit of his stomach… although not without taking a stab at his heart on the way down. Ada is pleased when he finally starts to kiss her back, even if it’s only a little, slow and hesitant and questioning.

When she pulls back it’s only because the pain in her side is making her head swim, but her hands remain where they are. Her eyes force open to look at him, and she says nothing to meet his asking gaze.

She doesn’t want to ask him and she doesn’t need to, he gets the hint by how she’s holding onto him and eventually, slowly, he moves to the other side of her on the bed and lies down alongside her beneath the blankets. His position allows her to roll onto her uninjured side and press herself flush up against him, another movement that makes his body ache and shift uncomfortably, for more reasons than one. His arms are careful around her and her skin is too warm against his, but he knows (hopes) the fever will probably break given a few hours of sleep. She isn’t quite asleep, not yet, and Leon opens his mouth to speak finally and his tone is still so wary.

“Why did you come here?”

Ada doesn’t move, doesn’t shy back at the question (as though he expected her to…!) and her fingertips are tickling along the back of his neck in a way that almost makes him forget he asked anything. Almost. In her half-awake, fevered haze, Ada has no qualms about answering, “I wanted to see you.”

Leon opens his mouth again, closes it, lays there as Ada’s breathing evens out and she falls into a solid sleep. If he sleeps, too, she’s likely to be gone when he wakes up. He might even find a gun pointed at his head, or perhaps she might still be there and be feeling worse –

But for now, he thinks, he wants nothing more than this and her answer is good enough for him.
 
 
Current Mood: coldcold
Current Music: "your love means everything" | coldplay